The Meal Deal
by Sherlock River Hekate
Summary: Post Reichenbach story. John just wants Sherlock to eat. Not such a difficultthing to ask is it?


The Meal Deal

"You've been home nearly 3 months, Sherlock," John exclaimed in exasperation.  
"And?" Sherlock replied moodily  
"Look at you!" John was at his wits end, "You've barely put on any weight since you've been back."

When Sherlock returned from the 'dead' nearly three months ago, John was, obviously, glad. However the consulting detective had returned a little worse for wear. Sherlock, whose eating habits were unreliable at the best of times, had barely eaten while he was hunting down the rest of Moriarty's men. In the time after his return, John had been working hard to return his friend's weight to something at least approaching normal. So far, he hadn't got very far.

It was a sunny morning, well as sunny as it gets for London, and for once they had no cases. Of course, this meant that Sherlock was bored, and was being more insufferable than usual. He had refused any attempt that John had made to get him to eat, and John was beginning to get annoyed.  
"Right, we're going out for dinner!" John decided, "I'm going to ring and book a table."  
"You don't need to book," Sherlock said absentmindedly from his position on the lounge, "Angelo always has a table for me."  
"Yes, but we aren't going to Angelo's," John said calmly. This caught Sherlock's attention.  
"Why not," Sherlock asked in confusion, "Angelo's is as good as anywhere else. You like the food."  
"Yes, I like the food," John said, seeing there was going to be an argument, "But you hardly eat there. We are going to an all you can eat buffet Sherlock." And before Sherlock could say a word, John continued with "No arguments." And the subject was dropped, for the time being.

"Why, John?" Sherlock whined, lying on the couch and still staring at the ceiling.  
"Why what?" John looked up from his laptop in confusion.  
"Why are going out for dinner? Can't we just have take in. It'll be cheaper, and we don't need to go out." He was starting to use deductive reasoning, yet John knew Sherlock was going to totally miss his point.  
"Because you're still underweight, Sherlock!" John stated, "And I'm seriously worried about your health." Sherlock frowned and went to say something, but John continued on.  
"You've been home nearly 3 months, Sherlock," John exclaimed in exasperation.  
"And?" Sherlock replied moodily  
"Look at you!" John was at his wits end, "You've barely put on any weight since you've been back."  
Sherlock stood up walked over to the window.  
"We are going to an all you can eat. You are going to eat as much as you can. Then, and only then, are we going to go home." John stopped, finally running out of breath. He looked at Sherlock, who was still looking out the window.  
"Fine," Sherlock muttered, picking up his violin.  
"What?" John asked, a little in surprise.  
"I said fine, John" Sherlock turned towards John, using the voice he reserved for when people were being exceptionally stupid. "I will go to your buffet, and I will eat if, it means that much to you."  
And with that he turned back to the window and began playing his violin. John smiled, sometimes he thought that the three years Sherlock spent in hiding may have made him a better person, if only slightly.

That night they descended from 221B Baker Street, each dressed in their own version of acceptable clothing. For Sherlock that meant his black coat, underneath that a black suit and his purple shirt. For John that meant his knitted jumper and pants.  
"Really, John?" Sherlock asked.  
"What now, Sherlock?" John was a little beyond his roommate's questioning.  
"Just, that jumper, really?" Sherlock took one look at the expression on John's face and changed what he was saying. "Actually, nothing. That jumper is, umm, good."  
John smiled at the detective's attempt at normal conversation, and started to hail a cab.

They got in to the buffet, with John only having to say that they 'are not a couple' once, and having warned Sherlock there was to be no deductions. They sat down, and John noticed that Sherlock was quite fidgety.  
"Sherlock, calm down," he said, looking at his roommate, "What's wrong?"  
"Nothing is wrong, John," Sherlock said tersely, "It's just, all these people," he kind of mumbled.  
John smiled at Sherlock, who would have guessed the world famous detective would have a phobia of such large crowds?  
"I'll make you a deal, Sherlock," John said, an idea already forming in his mind. "For every plate of food you eat, I will let you analyse two people in the room." John hoped that the temptation of deducing as many people as possible would prove enough of an incentive to get Sherlock to eat.

Two plates of food later, John and Sherlock were laughing at their table. The idea of using his skills had calmed Sherlock considerably, and had proved the incentive John hoped that it would be. Sherlock was currently deducing a rather tall, rather large looking black man who had just passed them in the food line.  
"Sssh Sherlock, not so loud!" John hissed, though he was trying, and failing, not to laugh.  
"Why," Sherlock asked, his eyes shining, "All I was saying is that he is an African American. And that he's out on a date, trying too hard to impress a woman who is already clearly interested in him purely for the colour of his skin."  
Sherlock continued with his deductions, and John added some of his own on, making even Sherlock laugh at the obscurity.

At the end of the night they both sat back, eyes shining from laughter and two very full bellies. "Thank you," Sherlock muttered, looking at his plate rather than at John.  
"You're welcome Sherlock," He looked up and smiled. "And thank you for coming back," he added, just loud enough for Sherlock to hear. 


End file.
